To Make a Good Impression
by StarLight9
Summary: Aragorn is torn between his duty and helping travelers in need. Teitho First Place Winner


**To Make a Good Impression**

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_**Summary: **Aragorn is torn between his duty and helping travelers in need._

_**Disclaimer:** All of this beautiful world belongs to Tolkien. I am merely playing with his toys and will return them in (mostly) good health and spirits._

_**Note:** Written for the Teitho "First Meetings" contest. It placed first. Many thanks to everyone who voted!_

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Aragorn was certain he would never feel warm again. The heavy rains had lasted for days and even his heavy cloak was soaked through. He had tried oiling it on the outside, but it had done little good. The young Ranger supposed his feet were marginally drier under the heavy boots, but it was hard to tell as they were frozen to the core and felt like two heavy blocks of ice. He was afraid that if he ever found a warm shelter, they would melt to water.

The weather had slowed him down considerably, and he cursed his bad luck. Halbarad was waiting at "The Hungry Rabbit", expecting to hear his report on the outlaws, and he did not wish to be late. The rains might have hindered his kinsman as well, but Halbarad was a seasoned Ranger, while Aragorn had joined the Dúnedain only two winters past and still had much to learn… or so all the older Rangers kept telling him, and the young man knew that if he was late today, he would only prove them right.

The Ranger did not let the gloomy thoughts distract him and kept his guard up, and so when a high-pitched cry sounded above the constant wind and rain, his sword was drawn and ready in mere moments. The cry was repeated again and again, and soon Aragorn could hear the splashing of feet in the mud, coming in his direction.

"Help!" Aragorn's grip on his sword relaxed slightly as a young boy, no more than ten years of age, bounced in front of him. Wet clothes clung tightly to his skinny body. His hair looked as if the boy had cut it himself (many months ago) and might have been blond once, but it was hard to tell for certain with all the dirt that even the rain had been unable to wash away. The boy's cheeks were wet, but whether it was from raindrops or tears, it was impossible to say.

"Mr. Ranger, please, you have to help me!" The boy cried once again and moved closer. Aragorn was taken aback. His kin was held in suspicion by the folk around these parts, and the sight of his drawn gleaming sword should have been enough to scare a grown man. Yet, the boy did not seem to notice. "Please, sir, it is my grandpa. We were crossing the river and he… he… there was a log. He is stuck, he cannot go on, and the water is rising!"

Aragorn groaned inwardly. Crossing the Chetwood River in good weather was a dangerous task for a young boy and his old grandfather, but under this downpour it was utter madness. What urgent business must have made those travelers forsake all caution? "Take me to him," he said, wasting no time. The boy rushed back and Aragorn sheathed his sword and followed with a resigned sign – Halbarad would have to wait for a while longer.

The river was not far away and soon the Ranger could distinguish its booming thunder from the pouring rain. "Grandpa!" the little boy squeaked again and Aragorn anxiously scanned the merciless waters. It was hard to see anything, but as he squinted carefully he could distinguish a dark form amidst the even darker river. The Ranger breathed a sigh of relief. The grandfather was still alive.

The old man's head was barely above the water and it was clear that something kept him from moving. Without hesitation Aragorn took a long rope out of his backpack and tied one end to a nearby tree and the other to his waist. It would do the grandfather little good if he could reach him and then be unable to take both of them back to the shore.

"Be careful, Mr. Ranger!" The child whispered as he watched his movements in awe. Aragorn tried the strength of the knots and cautiously stepped into the river.

The stones on the bottom were smooth and slippery, but the young man was surefooted and his progress was steady, even if slower than he would have liked. When he reached the grandfather at last, the old man's face was still above the surface.

"Hold on, my good man, you will be free soon," he called in encouragement, but the stranger only scolded at him under heavy eyebrows.

"It took you long enough to get here, young rascal! My old bones are frozen to the core! I hope you are not as useless as you look and will move this log before my beard has grown down to my knees!"

Aragorn paused, taken aback. He was used to ingratitude, but when the child had been so open to him he had hoped that the grandfather would be the same. Even stranger, in his experience the people who despised him feared him as well, while this man seemed to fear neither him, nor his dire predicament.

Not deigning to reply, the Ranger quickly dove under the surface. His eyes stung as he opened them under the murky water, but he was able to make out the heavy log, trapping the old man's leg. Quickly he grabbed the wood and lifted it up.

Or at least he tried to. His muscles screamed under the strain and his lungs burned as all air left them. He pulled the log for as long as he dared, but when bright spots appeared before his eyes, he gave up his task and resurfaced, desperately coughing and gasping for precious air.

"Ah, so you are weak, besides slow," the old man lamented. "What foul luck made my grandson find you first of all people!"

Aragorn did his best to ignore him and took a deep breath, readying to dive once again. Every word out of this man's mouth weakened his resolve to save him at all cost, but if the Rangers refused to help everyone who treated them unjustly, then fresh graves would cover Eriador like open wounds.

Soon the Ranger lost count of how many times he would dive, fight to the end of his strength and then swim back to the surface, only to be greeted by the old man's snarky comments. Every next dive lasted shorter than the previous and his strength waned. After a while he was never certain if he would be able to resurface again after he went down, and yet he kept trying. He had lost hope that the old man could ever be saved, when the log moved at last.

"Ah, it was about time," the grandfather mumbled. "I feared I would grow roots down here and turn into a water tree."

_You are welcome,_ Aragorn thought wryly and gave the old man his hand. "Hold on to my back. I will take you to the shore."

The man wrapped his arms around the Ranger's neck so tightly that he almost cut off his air passage. Aragorn tried to ignore the pain and grabbed the rope tightly, slowly pulling them to the shore. It was no simple task – the waves were wild and treacherous and the stones slippery, and the Ranger lost his footing and was carried off track many times, but he never let go of the rope. His arms ached with a passion when he finally pulled both of them on the shore, panting.

The boy surveyed them anxiously. "Grandfather, are you well?"

"As well as I can be after the cares of the incompetent fool you brought to me."

The Ranger suppressed a sign. "I am glad you are both well, gentlemen. If you excuse me now, I have some urgent business to attend to, and I am already late." Naturally, all Halbarad would think of his delay would be that Aragorn had apparently allowed the foul weather to slow him down, which meant he still had so much to learn. He would never hear the end of it. The best he could do now was to reach the inn as fast as possible.

"Wait!" To his shock, it was the grandfather speaking again. "You cannot leave us like this!"

"I… cannot?"

"I left my walking stick behind," the old man explained, indicating the river. "I used it for support while crossing, but when the log came and trapped me, I stuck it beneath some rocks next to me, so it would not float away. It must still be there. You have to go back and get it for me."

Aragorn stared at him incredulously. This mad creature could not be serious! "Your _walking stick_? We are in a forest in case you have failed to notice!" To emphasize his point, the Ranger bent down and lifted a long thick branch which could serve as a passable walking stick. Admittedly, it was very wet and brittle, but he doubted the grandfather's original support was faring any better underwater.

The old man eyed the branch in disgust and shook his head. "My father had this walking stick, and his father before him. I need it back."

Aragorn felt a strange sense of sympathy for the stranger's plight. He knew a thing or two about family heirlooms, and he could not imagine the Ring of Barahir or the shards of Narsil being lost. Well, their value and historical significance were doubtlessly greater than this man's walking stick, but still he could imagine how the grandfather must have been feeling. "I will get it for you," he said impulsively and regretted it a minute later. But he had given his word, and he meant to keep it.

The water had gotten even deeper than it had been mere moments ago and Aragorn's trek was an agonizing mixture of swimming, diving, walking, falling, and pulling himself back along the rope and starting anew. But at the end he found the place where he had found the old man and after a quick search came across a long wooden staff, half-buried under the rocks. Nearly sobbing with relief, Aragorn headed back.

The walking stick was of little use to him as he often had to hold on to the rope with both hands. Why had the grandfather not mentioned this staff earlier, right after Aragorn had saved him? He could have carried both the man and his staff in that case and would have been spared this second trip to hell and back. Was the old man doing this on purpose, simply to make him suffer? Halbarad would be very unhappy about his prolonged delay. Or perhaps his kinsman would actually be _happy_, now that Aragorn had given him another excuse to make fun at his expense for months on.

As he finally crawled up the bank, Aragorn resisted the weakness in his knees and the urge to collapse on the muddy shore once again and stood up straight instead, silently handing the staff to its rightful owner.

"Well, now that this is taken care of, we will leave you to your urgent business and head to Archet," the old man said.

Aragorn froze and considered the old man carefully. "What business brings you there? I am just coming back from Archet and I can tell you that a band of Dunlending outlaws have been causing serious trouble the past week. It is not a safe place for you to go, unless you have someone to meet you on the way. And not many decent men will be out in this weather to help if need be."

The grandfather shrugged. "The business is our own and is urgent. We cannot afford to wait for the outlaws to be dealt with. Besides, we can handle ourselves quite well."

The Ranger was skeptical about this statement, but he did not raise any objections, afraid of offending the man even further. And still, letting them go now was allowing the two to walk into almost sure death. After all he had done to save the grumpy old fool's sorry hide!

"Then allow me to accompany you and see you safely there," he offered even though he knew that the delay would cost him dearly. The Rangers had their own plans to deal with the outlaws and he had now collected important intelligence, which had to be delivered to Halbarad as soon as possible. It was his duty as a Ranger to follow what they have agreed on and to play his part in their plans. Moreover, he was longing for a warm meal and a dry room at the Hungry Rabbit. And yet, it was his duty as a human to see these two helpless travelers to safety. He could only hope that Halbarad would understand and not think he had failed.

The old man raised an eyebrow. "I doubt you will be of much help if worse comes to worst, but suit yourself."

Aragorn sighed. Why was his companion making everything possible to dissuade him from his good intentions? Still, he tried to be civil. "If we are to travel together, perhaps you could tell me your names," he tried.

"This is Toby," the old man indicated towards his grandson. "As for me, you can call me 'Grandpa'. Everyone calls me that nowadays. After the death of my daughter and her husband, Toby is all I have left. No one has called me anything but 'Grandpa' for years."

"Grandpa…" the word rolled strangely off Aragorn's tongue. With a start, he realized that he had never spoken it before. He had seen the word written in books and heard other people speak it, but never before had he said it himself. Dírhael, his grandfather on his mother's side, had passed away while he had been a child in Rivendell, unaware of his identity. Perhaps he had seen Dírhael before his father had been killed, but he had no memories of that. And Arathorn's father, Arador, had died before he had been born. And as for his grandfather on his adopted father's side… Elladan and Elrohir referred to Eärendil as "Daeradar" when they talked about him, and Aragorn sometimes shared silent conversations with the ever-present star, but he could not bring himself to call the hero of the past "grandfather", even in his thoughts. Aragorn had not realized it until now, but he wished he had a grandfather, someone he could turn to for wisdom and advice. Someone very, very much unlike the 'Grandpa' he was now stuck with.

"I suppose we should hear your name as well, young man," Grandpa took him out of his thoughts.

"Strider," he replied automatically.

Grandpa scolded. "Strider? This is no proper name, but then again, you are no proper lad either."

Aragorn could hardly contain his irritation any longer. "And neither is 'Grandpa' a proper name," he replied calmly. "But then I suppose you are no proper old man."

For a moment he thought he saw a merry twinkle of amusement appear in Grandpa's blue eyes, but it was gone so quickly that he was not sure if it had been there at the first place, and his companion was back to his usual grumpy self. "No respect for your elders I see. I should not be surprised."

Aragorn signed resignedly and tried to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, which was no small feat in the squelching mud. For the greater part of the road they walked in blessed silence, for which he was grateful. Progress was slow, and the chill had spread throughout his body, so deep that he thought even his bone marrow had frozen. The throbbing ache in his head and his hoarse throat indicated the onset of a cold.

Perhaps if he had been more alert, or well-rested, or warmer, or less desperate at his current predicament, he might have sensed it sooner. Or perhaps he was simply a lousy Ranger and Halbarad was right – he did have a lot to learn. But there was no time to waste on what-ifs, now that the bandits were upon them. Aragorn raised his sword to block an attack from above, then turned around to drive his blade through a man's belly, and then twisted back, hacking his first attacker's wrist in a single move and leaving the outlaw screaming in agony. He did not wish to kill them; or at least not _all_ of them. He needed to take prisoners and questions them – who their leader was, where their hideout was, what their plans were. But right now his priority was to keep Toby and Grandpa safe.

Surprisingly, the task was way easier than expected. From the very beginning, Toby had nimbly climbed up a high tree and was now pushing back all assailants trying to come after him with a short dagger and a heavy branch. As for Grandpa, the seemingly frail old men was standing up straight, swinging his walking stick around with deadly accuracy – blocking blows and smashing heads and guts. For a moment Aragorn stared at him transfixed, but then broke out of his reverie and sidestepped another blow.

He had been frozen like a fish in the ice only moments ago, but now sweat was flowing down his face. Aragorn had lost track of time and had no idea how long they had been fighting; only that it had been too long. Exertion was taking its toll – his arms and legs ached, and the throbbing in his head had only intensified. Yet, he had survived worse, and now was not the time to daydream about peace and rest, about a crackling fire at his back, a warm soup in his belly and a tankard full of ale in his hand. Now was the time to stay focused if he would ever live to experience such simple pleasures again.

Four of their assailants were lying on the ground already, but from the corner of his eye, Aragorn noticed that one had succeeded in climbing the tree Toby was hiding in. With a cry, he rushed after the outlaw, but even as he approached the tall tree, he realized his disadvantage – he could never climb it with a broadsword in hand. Regretfully, he dropped his trusted weapon at the base of the tree and started climbing. Hopefully no one would take his sword and leave him defenseless as he came back to the ground. A quick look downwards asserted his hope – the number of hale bandits was dwindling; both he and Grandpa had done a good work. If he could only stop the one now threatening Toby, he was certain they had good chances of getting out of this more or less unscathed.

Aragorn had almost reached the assailant now. He stopped to retrieve a dagger from his belt and climbed up the last few branches swiftly and silently. The bandit's attention was all on the boy now, and the sharp blade in his calf caught him by surprise. With a cry of anguish, he turned towards the new threat and aimed a furious kick at the Ranger's face. Aragorn quickly moved to the side, leaving the Dunlending's foot find only empty air. He reached up to make another strike, but just then something grabbed his ankle and forcefully yanked it down.

Aragorn did not need to look down to see what this meant. Another bandit had made his way after him and was now pulling at his ankle, causing him to lose balance. With a grunt, he shook his leg, trying unsuccessfully to rid himself of the unwanted grip. Looking up, he could see that Toby was now free of the first bandit, and planning his strike back. The child lifted the branch he was holding and aimed it at the outlaw's forehead. The Dunlending had not expected an attack from above and with a yelp of surprise waved his hands in the air and fell towards the ground. Unfortunately, on his way down, he managed to grab Aragorn, whose balance was already shaken. With horror, the Ranger found himself falling, smashing branches on the way.

His head hit the ground first. Bright spots danced in the darkness that had now engulfed his vision, but he remained alert enough to feel the bandit's heavy body fall on top of him, expelling all air from his lungs. Disoriented, Aragorn more felt than saw the sword aimed at his heart. He quickly rolled around, so that it only left a deep gash on his upper arm, and the sharp pain served to bring him back to his senses. He rolled once again, this time avoiding the next blow completely and tried to stand up, but a vicious kick in his chest sent him back to the ground, his head sharply colliding with the stones below. Blinking rapidly, Aragorn tried to clear his vision and was met by an unlikely sight.

From the corner of his eye he could see that Grandpa had already dispatched his foes and was now running towards him, walking stick raised high, his long grey robes flying like a banner around him. Fury was in his blue eyes, fury and vengeance, and something else. Terror, deep penetrating terror, as if the old man feared something most terrible would come to pass.

Of course, Grandpa was afraid for Toby, his last living kin. But the boy was well, Aragorn had made sure it was so. He wanted to reassure the old man, to tell him that Toby was safe now, but he had no strength to speak. Neither did he have to strength to avoid the next blow.

Another blade, another kick, another fist, but then they were gone. The bandits were gone. Someone was cradling his aching head now, brushing a sweaty strand of hair away from his eyes. His mind swam in darkness and confusion and his heart raced in panic, as he had no clue what was happening and where he was. He frowned, trying to focus his eyes, and was shocked to see Grandpa's worried face.

"I am sorry, my dear boy," the old man said softly. "I should have taken better care of you. I should have risked being seen rather than risked losing you."

Now, this did nothing to alleviate Aragorn's confusion. My dear boy? Risk losing you? Surely, the old man was talking to Toby and not to him? And yet, Grandpa's blue eyes were looking down upon him, infinitely wise… and infinitely kind. And what did the old man mean by "risk being seen"? They were seen by the bandits, whether he had chosen to risk it or not.

"At least we have two prisoners," Grandpa continued. "Perhaps they will tell us something of use."

Aragorn blinked, not sure if he was not dreaming. _We_ have prisoners? They might tell _us_ something useful? What did Grandpa have to do with the bandits? Was this his urgent business in Archet?

"You will learn the answers to your questions soon enough," the old man said as if he could read Aragorn's mind, and placed a hand on the young man's forehead. "There will be time for that later. But rest now, Estel. Sleep and recover. You will be safe."

Something in the old man's last words was very, very odd and unexpected, but Aragorn's fuzzy mind could not quite grasp it. A sense of safety and warmth spread through him, as if emanating from the old man's palm, and he gave in to sleep.

-:-

Aragorn awoke by the sound of his own sneeze. Of course, he had managed to catch a cold somehow, even though he did not remember how or where or when. Judging from the fierce pain in his head, chest, arms and legs, the nausea, and his disorientation and fuzzy memory, it was more than just a cold that plagued him. Great. Halbarad would give him quite a lecture about how a true Ranger should be able to look after himself in the wilds.

But he would worry about that later. It was so warm and comfortable in this bed; all he wanted was to close his eyes and go back to sleep. Alas, it was not to be, as two irritating sounds broke his peace. One was the voice of a small child, throwing a tantrum, and the other was the soft snoring of someone sleeping nearby. Well, whatever they were, they concerned him little. Aragorn pressed his eyes firmly shut and tried to ignore the sounds, but it was impossible; they grated on his nerves and refused to leave him alone. His two years spent among the Rangers had turned him into a very light sleeper and had taught him to never ignore any sound as it might mean danger. With a resigned sign, he opened his eyes and decided to investigate the sources of this disturbance.

First, he focused on the child's voice coming from downstairs. It was young Barliman, the innkeeper's son. The four-year-old child insisted that "The Hungry Rabbit" was a foolish name for an inn, and stated that he would change it to something nobler and more refined once he inherited the place. The father was not amused. Ah, so he was in the Rabbit then, Aragorn surmised. He was very attached to this place. Since he had joined the Rangers, it was one of the few places of relative comfort and safety. Unfortunately, he only came here for work; mostly to learn new information from the inn's various patrons, and never stayed more than a few nights, but still he had some pleasant memories here.

Listening to the boy arguing with his father, Aragorn briefly wondered what it would be like to have a son of his own one day. But such thoughts ultimately led him to thinking of Arwen, which of course led to his last talk to Lord Elrond before he had left Rivendell. The memories were almost physically painful to dwell on, and Aragorn had done his best never to think of that, to forget. And yet, how could he?

In an attempt to distract himself, the young Ranger decided to investigate the other sound. It should have been easy – all that he needed to do was to turn around, and yet every movement caused him great pain. Gingerly, he managed to slowly turn head and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

It was Halbarad, huddled in a chair next to the bed, wrapped in a blanket and snoring peacefully, as if he did not have a care in this world. For a moment Aragorn wondered if he should wake him. He was not eager to face the upcoming lecture, but he would have to do it sooner or later, and he was impatient to learn what misadventure had left him in his current condition.

"Halbarad!" he called softly, and his kinsman bolted upright in the chair, awake and alert at once.

"Aragorn!" he called in wonder, kneeling by the bed and feeling the younger man's face for fever. "You are awake! You gave me quite a scare!"

Aragorn was shaken by the moisture in his kinsman's eyes. This was not the reception he was expecting, and he was not sure if he welcomed the change. Every display of care and concern for his wellbeing served as a painful reminded of all that he once had in Rivendell and was now lost.

"Halbarad, what- what happened?"

The lines of worry on his kinsman's face only deepened. "Do you not remember?" He waved a hand in front of the injured man's face. "How many fingers do you see?"

"Stop it!" Aragorn said, irritated, and pushed the hand away.

"I am serious, my friend," Halbarad insisted. "You suffered quite a blow on your head, and if you suffer from memory loss as well, we should take good care of you. Can you remember nothing? You were traveling to Bree to bring me news of the outlaws, when you were joined by two unexpected companions."

The outlaws! All of a sudden memories flooded Aragorn's mind like a released dam. The news he carried for Halbarad, the slow trek in the rain, Toby, Grandpa, the river, the attack…

"The bandits…" he muttered, as disconnected images flashed through his mind.

"Worry not, our prisoners have proven quite talkative. All is being taken care of," Halbarad assured. "Although it turns out it was as we feared."

"As we feared?" Aragorn echoed confused. He did not remember what they had feared.

"Ah, that is true, you were never told of this as it happened after you left," Halbarad mused. "A few days ago I received a message from Gandalf the Grey. He suspected there was more to these bandits that met the eye. That there was a greater evil at work, giving them strength and purpose. This is why he wished to investigate the matters himself. And indeed, it turns out their leader was an Easterling, who promised them gold and great rewards, including help against Rohan, their most hated enemy, if only they agreed to join Sauron's cause. Their first task unfortunately was to wreck havoc in Arnor. Thankfully, it seems only a handful of the Dunlendings have been corrupted so far, and we managed to stop this before it went any further."

But Aragorn had stopped listening already. Gandalf? He had heard so many stories of the wizard's adventures and even as a child had dreamed of meeting him and traveling with him to lands unknown. "Is Gandalf coming here then?" he asked, unable to suppress his youthful enthusiasm. "Or is he here already? When will I meet him?"

Halbarad's eyes widened and he carefully scrutinized the younger man. "You must have hit your head harder than I thought, my friend! You have _met_ Gandalf already! He is the one who brought you here! Can you not remember?"

Aragorn stood frozen in shock. This was not possible. Surely Halbarad must have been mistaken! He had last been with Toby and Grandpa. Had they met with Gandalf on the way? Or… or… was Grandpa… The possibility was so absurd, and yet it seemed to make a strange sort of sense. But it was not possible! He was a _grandpa_! And he had a _grandson_!

"If he cannot remember, I am sure young Aragorn will be delighted to make my acquaintance once again," a voice sounded from the door, and both Rangers turned around, surprised to be caught off guard.

Grandpa winked at Aragorn and seated himself on the second chair. "I am sorry I had to put this charade for you, my boy, but I desired to see what you would do if you were asked to help an unpleasant and ungrateful old man. It was a test of sorts I suppose. You see, it is hard to labour tirelessly, to forsake your own well-being, your own comfort and dreams and aspirations, for the sake of those who are kind to you. How much harder it must be to do the same for the sake of those who are unkind! And yet, do it you must, if you are to be a Ranger. Sadly, the Rangers sacrifice much and fight and bleed and suffer for those who never know of this kindness and regard them with contempt. I fear I cannot say for how many years this will go on, but these little hidden battles need to be fought if the people of this realm are to live in peace. I see that you are a true Ranger in the making, Aragorn."

"'_In the making'_ being the key phrase here," Halbarad added cheerfully. "Even if Aragorn often believes he is a true Ranger already."

"So it was all a test then?" Aragorn said, relieved. "You are not usually like… _like that_?"

Gandalf laughed. "What, you mean grumpy and ungrateful? No, I assure you, my young friend, that you will find me a most agreeable and kindly old man most of the time."

Halbarad snorted. "_'Most of the time'_ being key here," he clarified, ignoring Gandalf's deadly glare.

"But how is this possible?" Aragorn asked. "Who is Toby? Surely he cannot be your grandson!"

Gandalf laughed once again. "Oh no, Valar save me, no! Toby is just a brave boy, working in the Rabbit's kitchens, who is kind enough to often help us in our pursuits."

"His grandmother, Adûninzil, is one of the Dúnedain," Halbarad explained. "She was not twenty yet, when her parents died. She was unmarried and had no siblings, and it was hard for her to live in the wild. Many families wanted to help her, but she was too proud to accept any assistance and moved all by herself to Bree, where she started work at the Rabbit. Later, she married a Bree-lander and had a daughter, who gave birth to Toby. Toby is very close to his grandmother and she has told him many stories of us and our ways. He is fascinated with the Rangers, even though his parents disapprove. I was unaware of him until he came to me himself one day at the inn and asked me if I was a Dúnadan. When I confirmed, he offered me his services and has been very helpful in secret missions ever since." Halbarad finished with a broad grin.

"I wanted to travel to Archet to investigate," Gandalf continued the tale. "Usually I have no trouble passing for an ordinary old man, but I thought a grandson would be a good addition to my cover, and Toby was happy to join. I allowed him after his promise that he would run and hide if he felt in danger. We were crossing the river, when I ran into little trouble. This was no act, and neither did I expect to meet you there. I was indeed trapped by a log, and even though I would have had no trouble freeing myself, doing so would have attracted a lot of unnecessary attention, and so I sent Toby forth, hoping to find help and to get out of the river in the conventional way. Imagine my surprise when Toby brought no other but you! Yes, my boy, I knew who you were from the very beginning, and I decided to play this little trick on you. I was impressed by your determination when you tried to move that log, even if it was futile. I gave you a little help there at the end, as much as I could without giving myself away. Otherwise, you would have probably drowned before you gave up."

"Ah, very interesting," Halbarad mused. "Aragorn, I would of course expect a full account of that drowning attempt of yours tomorrow morning. Now if you excuse me, my friends, I need to get the sleep this rascal has stolen from me," he rose and headed for the door.

Aragorn tried to fix him with a stern stare. "As your chieftain, I owe you no accounts."

Halbarad murmured something which sounded very much like "We shall see about that" under his breath and exited the room.

Once Aragorn was left alone with Gandalf, he felt very foolish. All this time Gandalf had known who he was, and yet he had had no clue about the wizard's identity. And this was so unfair! Since being a little child, he had dreamed of meeting Gandalf, of going on adventures with him. He had imagined this meeting so many times and had carefully planned what to say and do in order to make a good impression on the wizard and to persuade him to take him on his travels. And now he had finally met Gandalf, but had had no idea and had taken no care of how he behaved or what he said!

"Something troubles you, Estel," the wizard said and Aragorn nearly jumped. Memories came back to him and he realized that this was not the first time Gandalf had called him "Estel". So this was what had sounded so strange in the wizard's last words before he had lost consciousness. But why had the wizard used this name? Why not Strider, or Aragorn? Why the name that he had not heard in the past two years? Why the name that had died together with his past?

Gandalf smiled sadly and once again Aragorn had the uncanny feeling that the wizard could guess his thoughts. "I was in Rivendell only a fortnight ago," Gandalf said, and Aragorn felt all blood drain from his face. He desperately wanted to ask how Elrond and his sons fared, if they had said anything about him, but he could not do it. It would sound childish, but even worse, he was afraid of the answer. No, he most certainly did not wish to know what Elrond might have said about him.

"He asked me to keep an eye on you," Gandalf answered the unspoken question and Aragorn felt a lump form in his throat. "He loves you very much, Aragorn. You are like a son to him, and nothing can change that."

Nothing can change that… Aragorn felt all his blood rush back to his face with a vengeance. Gandalf _knew_! He wished he could hide somewhere and never show his face in front of the wizard again. And how did he know? Had Elrond told him?

"Do not blame your father needlessly, Estel," the wizard chided. "He told me nothing. He did not have to; it is not an easy task to hide something from a wizard. But know this, my young friend. There is no shame in the longings of a noble heart. And there is most certainly no shame in love. It is, after all, what makes us different from the Enemy."

Aragorn slowly raised his head and met the wizard's eyes, those sky-blue eyes, infinitely wise, and infinitely kind. And in that moment he knew that Gandalf could see right through him – his fears, his shames, his dreams. And, strangest of all, he was no longer ashamed. The wizard could read his soul like an open book, but he did not mind. "Thank you," the Ranger said sincerely.

Gandalf smiled. "And now, my young friend, will you share what is troubling you?"

Aragorn hesitated. His troubles were very childish and foolish and normally he would have never spoken them, but he felt that Gandalf already knew and did not hold it against him. "It is nothing really," he started. "I only wish I had known who you were from the very beginning. Then I… I could have at least tried to make a good impression."

At that, Gandalf started to laugh. It was a thunderous laughter that seemed to shake the building like an earthquake. Aragorn scolded. Was the wizard mocking him now? Did he think he could have never made a good impression even if he tried?

"But my boy," Gandalf managed to say after a while, brushing away tears of mirth. "What _better_ impression were you hoping to make! Really, I pride myself for having a very well developed imagination, and yet I cannot imagine a single thing you could have done better!"

Aragorn looked at the wizard in surprise, but saw only sincerity in Gandalf's eyes. "In that case, I have a favour to ask," he said, slowly gaining confidence.

"Speak your mind, my boy," Gandalf said encouragingly.

"I have never traveled far, and I still have so much to learn. All that I know of the world beyond the Misty Mountains is from books and maps and the tales of others. I believe I must know more of this world if I am to fulfill my destiny. This is why I would ask you to take me with you on your travels and teach me what there is to learn."

The wizard smiled, but his eyes were sad. "You will have many opportunities to wander across different lands, my young friend, and I have a task or two for you in mind. But do not be so eager! There is much pain and toil awaiting you on your path, and I will not always be there to guide you. But let us leave these dark thoughts for other days. I should leave you to rest now. Sleep well and take all the rest you need, and do not dare get out of your bed tomorrow! I will bring your food upstairs, but do not get used to this. I do not expect to do it again anytime soon."

Aragorn laughed. "A wizard serving me food himself, that would be a sight to behold! Gandalf?" he called as the wizard open the door. "May I ask you one last thing?"

The wizard nodded and for once he did not seem to guess what was on the young Ranger's mind.

A wicked gleam appeared in the man's eyes. "May I still call you "Grandpa"?

At that moment Gandalf's resemblance to a stormy cloud was so striking that Aragorn would not have been surprised if the wizard had starting emitting little thunderbolts from his ears. "Do not push your luck, young man!" he said in a deep, booming voice. "As Halbarad was so kind to point out, I am an agreeable old man only _most of the time_. You do not need to learn what my other side is like!" The change back to normal was just as sudden, and Gandalf looked like he had before, his eyes twinkling merrily. "Sweet dreams, my friend," he said with a wink before closing the door.

Aragorn stared at the closed door with a smile. No matter what he would call Gandalf from now on, a dream he had not been aware of until recently had come true. He had found his grandpa.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The silence lasted long after Aragorn had finished his tale. Stars twinkled merrily above Lothlórien, as if mocking the grief below. Frodo wiped at his eyes furiously, unable to suppress the hiccups that occasionally shattered his tiny frame. Sam sought to comfort his master, but his own face was twisted in anguish. Boromir was staring forward unseeing, lost in his own memories, but his hand was firmly gripping Merry's shoulder. Pippin was rocking back and forth, his arms wrapped around himself. Gimli was clenching his unlit pipe so hard that his knuckles had turned white and the dwarf's eyes glistened in the darkness.

"Indeed, this sounds very much like the Gandalf I know," Legolas said softly. _Knew_, he silently amended himself, but did not speak it aloud, as if afraid that voicing it would make it true. It was hard to think of Gandalf in past tense. He wondered if he would ever get used to that. The wizard had always seemed eternal to him – he had existed for many Ages while the world was still young, and would exist for many Ages yet. But it was not so, and now their friend was gone for good. The elf raised his hand to brush his own tears away. Aragorn's eyes, he noted, were dry.

"It is your turn now, Legolas," Pippin said in a small voice. "It is your turn to tell us how you met Gandalf for the first time."

Legolas smiled sadly, lost in memories too painful to recall. No, now was not the time. Frodo's and Boromir's stories had left nearly all of them teary-eyed, but Aragorn's tale had shattered them completely. His companions could not take more of this tonight, and neither could he.

"This is a tale for another evening, my friend. The hour is late and we all need to rest."

Slowly, everyone got up one by one and headed towards their makeshift beds. Aragorn sat on the grass, staring at his boots. When he looked up, Legolas was still there.

The Ranger sighed tiredly. "You have something to say?" he asked, not having the patience for the elf to speak first. He knew from experience this could take hours.

"This is not the first time I have heard this tale," Legolas said simply.

The man looked up, surprised. This was not what he had expected to hear. "Gandalf told you how we met?"

Legolas nodded. "His version was the same, but there were some little additional details here and there about his own thoughts and reactions."

"Such as?"

The elf moved closer and their eyes met. "Gandalf told me that since he learnt of your existence, he had always known that one day you would have to journey together. There was so much he needed to teach you. But until that day you just told us about, until the day you first met, he had no idea what a great pleasures these journeys would be. What a great pleasure indeed, even if filled with danger and hardship."

Something suspiciously akin to moisture glistened in Aragorn's eyes, and yet no tears were shed. The elf frowned.

"Aragorn… you have not wept for him after Moria. I know it will not take the pain away, but it will help you."

Under different circumstances, the Ranger might have laughed. Now _this_ was what he had been expecting to hear at the first place.

"I am supposed to lead you now when Gandalf is gone. I cannot allow myself the luxury to be consumed by grief."

"But grief _has_ consumed you whether you are planning to allow it or not!" Legolas cried angrily. "I have seen you! You have not slept for a single hour after Gandalf's fall!"

"And how, pray tell, would you know that unless you have been awake yourself?" The man challenged.

"You know I do not need as much sleep as you do."

Aragorn snorted at that. "I am sure it is so. My point is, tears obviously do not help sleep."

"_Worrying about you_ is what does not help sleep, you insufferable, pigheaded troll!" Legolas shouted, but calmed down immediately, startled by his own outburst and chastised by the guilt that had now appeared in his friend's eyes. Adding to the man's turmoil was the last thing he wished to do. "I know you wish to be a good leader," he continued in a much softer voice. "And I know that you feel insecure because you have such large footsteps to fill. But you must understand that you cannot take care of anybody unless you have taken care of yourself first. We are to face many battles and danger. How do you expect to face them and survive them after so many sleepless nights? It would make me most unhappy if I had to sit around the fire with Gimli, Boromir and the hobbits to exchange stories of how each of us met _you_."

"But that will not be too bad, surely," Aragorn replied wryly. "After all, the story of our first meeting would make a rather amusing tale."

"That it would," Legolas agreed, allowing himself a small smile. "Apparently, unlike Gandalf, I was never one of your childhood heroes, and so you did not even try to make a good impression on me." His eyes turned serious once again. "Tell me it will not come to that."

Aragorn sighed. "I do not mean to follow Gandalf in the darkness, of course, and I plan to do all in my power to keep the company, including myself, safe. But these are dark times, my friend, and no one can make any promises."

This was obviously not enough for Legolas, who was now fixing him with a dark glare. "You know, if you are gone, I would be free to twist the story of our first meeting any way I like, and there will be no one to gainsay me."

Aragorn's eyes widened. "You would not!"

The elf's eyes were hard as steel. "Don't make me!"

To the man's dismay, Legolas' voice was not challenging this time. It was _begging_. His heart twisted painfully inside his chest.

"I do not know what to do, my friend. I do not know how to deal with this grief," he admitted softly. "I never thought it would be Gandalf of all people. He seemed eternal, like the rocks and the hills, and rivers, like the raging sea and the gentle breeze, like Arda herself."

Legolas moved closer and placed a hand on his friend's forearm. Aragorn continued, his voice no more than a hushed whisper. "He was one of the very few who truly knew me and truly understood me. He understood each one of us. Yet, I do not believe there was any of us, or any one person on this earth, Men, Elf, Hobbit or Dwarf, who understood him, who really knew who he was, what he had lived through, what he dreamed of. For the Hobbits he was a troublemaker and bringer of wondrous fireworks. For the Dwarves he was a leader in their fight for their lost treasures. For the Men, he was a bearer of ill news, and yet a wise advisor. For the Elves, he was one to whom they could always turn for counsel, and a loyal friend. And yet, he was so much more than all of that. And even though I have traveled with him for so many years, I do not believe that I have even begun to understand him."

Legolas squeezed the man's arm tightly and turned to look him in the eyes. "I know, my friend," he said softly. "I know. I feel the same. I cannot believe he is gone. For me he was everlasting – like the air that I breathe and the water that I drink. Middle-earth is not the same without him." Aragorn stared ahead forlornly, silently dwelling on the elf's words, but no tears flowed down his pale face. Legolas sighed. "Release your grief, Estel! It will make your heart lighter."

The man mutely shook his head. "I… cannot."

The elf placed his hands on Aragorn's shoulders and pulled back, so that he could look deep into his friend's eyes. He frowned. "You have kept this bottled up inside yourself for too long," Legolas said sadly. "Now you do not know how to release it. You must find your way by yourself. Tell me, do you wish me to stay with you this night and help you in whatever way I can, or do you wish me to go?"

Aragorn considered the offer. Mere minutes ago, when Legolas had first started interrogating him, he had wanted nothing more than to be left alone. But now… he was not as certain.

"I will speak with you later tonight," he said at length. "But for now I need to be alone."

Legolas nodded and stood up, reluctantly releasing his grip on the man's shoulder. "I will be up in the _talan_. Come and call me when you are ready. I do not believe I will get much sleep tonight anyway, so worry not about waking me up."

Aragorn smiled sadly. "Ah yes, you will be tossing and turning all night because of insufferable, pigheaded trolls, no doubt!"

"Precisely," Legolas said, fixing the man with a hard stare. "And I sincerely hope that this will be the last night I shall spent that way!"

Before Aragorn could respond, the elf grabbed a branch and disappeared into the thick foliage. "Thank you," the man whispered in the darkness, knowing that his friend had heard him.

Laments for Gandalf were still sung by many elves wandering the woods at night. Aragorn longed to join his song with theirs, but did not have the heart to do it. The stars were shining brightly above and he looked at them for solace and wisdom, but they could offer none.

The ranger slowly stood up, breathing in the fresh night air. The smell of grass and flowers and spring and life filled his nostrils. Barefooted, he walked over the soft grass, not sure where he was going.

The story he had just told was still fresh in his mind. Naturally, he had not shared all of it. He had not wished to discuss his thoughts about Arwen and his past fears of Elrond's rejection, not even with his friends. This was never an issue with Gandalf. Gandalf always knew and never judged.

_There is much pain and toil awaiting you on your path, and I will not always be there to guide you._

The wizard had spoken these words many years ago, but only now Aragorn understood what they meant. He had always assumed they only meant that often their paths would separate and each of them would follow his own tasks, but at the end they would be reunited once again to exchange news and wisdom. Never had he thought that Gandalf would disappear from his life forever. Never had he thought that he would never again have the opportunity to ask his friend for wise counsel, to share his hopes and troubles.

Aragorn looked at the stars intently, desperately trying to find a new one among them. For some reason he believed that after his death, Gandalf would be reborn as a star and would watch him and guide him from above. Somehow, he could not imagine that Gandalf would be completely gone, with no trace. But the night sky was the same as ever, with no new lights to grace it.

His gaze turned to Eärendil instead. _Daeradar_, Elladan and Elrohir called them, but Aragorn could not bring himself to use this word to describe the bright star. Eärendil have often watched over him and given him light and hope during his travels, but he was so distant, so noble, so unreachable. He was not the warm and kind-hearted old man that he could always share a good smoke with and ask for shrewd advice. Eärendil was not his grandpa, and neither were Arador and Dírhael. He had found a true grandfather neither by blood nor by adoption… but by helping a grumpy old man in a cold river. And now, he had lost him forever.

With a choked cry Aragorn fell to his knees and finally let his tears fall.

* * *

-:-

_Thanks for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated!_

_By the way, I am really curious, at what point did you guess Grandpa's identity? I tried to keep it very ambiguous until the fight with the bandits, but I'm not sure how it turned out._


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